A/N: I have been working on this idea for sometime now, well over a year in fact. It has been a while since I posted something for Sherlock so I thought I'd pop this up and see what kind of response I get.
I Own Nothing Characters belong to ACD, BBC, MOFF, and GAT
World belongs to Rick Riordan
I just mashed the two together to have fun for a bit.
Mike was running late, that was a fact. He was supposed to have met John here ages ago. Well half an hour feels like ages when you're seventeen. John Watson was standing under the shade of some overhanging trees from Regents Park, impatiently checking the time on his second-hand mobile. It had been Harry's first, as it seemed everything John owned had once been. It was a plan silver flip-phone, it was marred with scratches and some of the buttons stuck, but it was John's.
'To Harry, love Mum and Da XOXO' was etched into the back, a present for finishing studies at the Roland Kerr Further Education College. The model wasn't even six months old, but Harry was hard on her things. Once it had received a certain number of scratches and dents she deemed it unworthy and demanded a new one. When that didn't work she had tossed it out her bedroom door letting it crash into the wall opposite, cracking the screen for good measure. John had been pleased to find it still worked and now treasured it as his one luxury item.
John had never thought of his family as poor, they were just practical with their money. Even now his parents were away on holiday while John stood waiting at the Chester Road entrance to Regents Park in an oversized wool jumper that Harry had declared 'u-g-l-y' but John found comforting. It was the colour of oatmeal but John wore it over his favourite blue collared button-down. It was early October and John had found the morning cool but as the sun had raised the day had warmed up some.
John was about to give in and call it a day, he had better ways to spend a free Saturday than waiting for Mike, when suddenly a boy with curly black hair ran across his path carrying what at first appeared to John as a wooden baseball bat. The boy didn't acknowledge John, he didn't say 'sorry' or 'excuse me,' as he ran past at breakneck speeds. John had turned to say something sarcastic and witty when the bat glinted oddly in the sunlight. In a flash it was back to looking like any normal bat, but for a second it had changed into something else 'what the…' John's thoughts trailed off maybe he needed to get his eyes checked, it was not the first time he had seen strange sights.
For a moment John was frozen with indecision, to follow the possibly dangerous teen, just sit tight and wait for Mike, or run to the nearest Bobby and report what he thought he saw. But what had he seen? If John wasn't even sure how could he report it? No one ever believed him anyway. Long ago John had stopped trying to tell his parents, Harry, or any of his friends about the odd things he sometimes saw from the corner of his eye.
A long drawn out high-pitched roar broke through the silence of the park jolting John from his thoughts. An impossible image sprung to mind when John heard that roar, but impossible as it may be something inside him was telling him to believe. Underneath his feet the ground began to shake and another ear-drum shattering roar echoed through the air. In a split second John made up his mind and started running. If there was a dragon in Regents Park, John wanted to be with the guy who had the sword.
John ran right into a bank of fog he hadn't even noticed and was out the other side before he could stop to think about it. Suddenly he was standing in a clearing that was mostly occupied by a seven-headed Hydra. The word came to John instantly unbidden, although he was sure he'd never seen it applied to anything before. It had felt as though an arrow with the word imprinted on it had struck his brain.
In front of the beast stood a girl of about John's age, her wild raven hair falling in long graceful curls and floating all around her as she dodged first one head, then another all the while shooting arrow after arrow from her long bow. The arrows seemed to miss the creature, sometimes by very small amounts and John wondered how someone who looked so natural with the bow could miss a target so large when he realised, hitting the Hydra wasn't her goal. She was mealy trying to distract it, for in the tree behind the monster was the guy who had ran past John, and he wasn't alone.
John could see another bloke in the tree, it appeared the two were having some type of argument but John could hear nothing over the snapping of the Hydra's powerful jaws and the odd swoosh made by a flying arrow. The boy with curly hair was definitely holding what now appeared to be a bronze sword. He kept waving his hands around as though giving some great explanation, swinging the sword around carelessly, lopping off a few stray branches in the process. The guy with him was about the same height as curly, but broader in the shoulders and had something that looked very much like a grenade launcher come bazooka in his hands, he was clearly ignoring whatever his comrade was saying. He knelt on a sturdy tree branch and began taking aim and setting his multiple sights for the many heads of the beast. The teen with the sword suddenly swung down from the tree slicing heads as he went.
John wanted to scream, to yell out to warn him how not good of an idea that was, but it was already being covered. The guy in the tree pulled the trigger on his weapon and it shot out a stream of blue flames that scorched the tops of the necks before the heads had time to regrow. Greek Fire, John thought, again not sure where the words came from.
The Hydra's body turned black and crumbled into dust that blew away on the wind. The girl let out an audible sigh of relief. Now that there wasn't seven sets of jaws snapping and growling the clearing became eerily quiet. The guys fell back to the girl, John presumed to ask how she was, or commend her on a job well done, but the words drifting over to John were not ones of praise. The two blokes had decided to continue their argument from earlier and were unaware how vexed their companion was by this.
The girl stood there tapping her foot impatiently as the guys stood facing each other, moving closer with each outburst. John was sure the two were going to come to blows. John could only hear bits of what they were saying, parts of sentences like "my battle strategy" and "if Jim was here" or "if you'd waited."
"If we had waited we would have been dead" the bigger man bellowed, his shout echoing across the empty area.
This seemed to be the final straw for the girl; she turned on her heel and started marching away from them, clearly exasperated. She huffed in annoyance, venting her anger, stomping blindly forwards; John realized too late she was headed in his direction. He looked around but there was no where he could hide, no bushes or trees near enough to provide cover. The fog bank that had been there earlier was now mysteriously gone. John realised with a start that they weren't in any random clearing but were in fact on the stage area for the Open Air Theatre.
At the last second the girl raised her head and spotting John stopped dead in her tracks. With nowhere to run John did the only polite thing.
"I thought you were fantastic" John said cheerily by way of greeting the girl.
Her steel eyes pinned him to the spot, not that he had a choice. She was attractive in a conventional sort of way, even with the sweat still glistening on her forehead from the battle, her bow slung across her chest. She was like a goddess with her pale skin, long dark hair, keen eyes, but she wasn't his type. Girls that looked like that didn't look at guys like him, it was a fact.
Upon his acknowledgement, her demeanour changed entirely, before she had been battle weary, shoulders slouched in her post fight relaxed state. Instantly she was bright-eyed and alert.
"How much did you see?" she demanded in a hiss, aggressively grabbing John by his shirt front, and pulling him to.
John stammered meaningless sounds, not even full words as her eyes burrowed into his, as if she could make him tell her what she want to know.
"Cool it Irene, he's one of us" said a deep baritone. It came from the youth with the curly hair, his sword now safely resting in its sheath across his back. At some point the two guys must have realized the girl, Irene, had left them and walked over to where she stood now, holding John aloft as she was.
"How can you tell?" Irene snapped chancing a glance over her shoulder, still holding John firmly in her grip. His feet shuffled uselessly against the tops of the grass blades. She was stronger than she looked, her slender arms actually corded with well-honed muscles. No doubt her navy t-shirt covered an impressive set of abs as well. She had on a pair of well-loved flared Levi's, faded and naturally torn in places, particularly around the knees and the hems were frayed. An equally used pair of navy All-Star trainers donned her feet.
As the guys drew nearer John realised they were all wearing the same t-shirt. It appeared the three teens belonged to some type of club, or society. The tees were all plan navy coloured shirts with a white b over the left side. Curly paired his with a pair of khaki cargo pants the kind that zippered off at the knee, he had on a new pair of shiny black combat boots, that John instantly recognized as the ones he'd wanted for months, the ones he parents wouldn't buy for him.
"Drop him girly" said the bigger bloke, and John was only a little surprised to hear him sound like Hugh Jackman. John felt warm just looking at him, besides the tee the man was encased head to foot in tight leather motorcycle gear, including chaps and jacket. Heavy looking silver chains and buckles hung off every inch of him and John wondered how gravity wasn't pulling this man down.
"Why should I Moran, he saw… what did you see?" she asked again, more sweetly this time and John felt compelled to answer truthfully.
"I saw you kill a Hydra" he answered, shrugging his shoulders as best he could from his awkward position.
"A few mortals can see through the mist." Curly said, "It is rare, but it does happen. I know your father could."
Irene looks at John with daggers in her eyes, but they're not meant for him. John wants to give her a warm, friendly smile, but only manages to quirk the edges of his lips the slightest bit.
"Drop him" curly repeats and Irene complies, with a grim smile, letting John fall gracelessly to the ground.
John scrambled to get his feet under him, not wanting to be disadvantaged. He knows what it's like to sit on the ground and be surrounded by bigger, stronger kids. John has always had a few close friends and was generally well liked by everyone but as the kid who saw stuff others couldn't he was sometimes branded a liar and there for not exempt from being bullied.
"Thanks for that mate, I don't know what all that was about but-" John is stumbling through his thanks when curly cuts him off.
"Whose child are you? I can usually tell but, ah, you haven't been claimed have you? Obviously." He seemed to mutter that last part to himself.
"Claimed?" John asked, confused, "what do you mean, claimed?"
"Which parent do you live with?" he continued, "your mother or your father? Maybe if I could narrow it down-" the teen frowned as he began pacing across a small square of ground.
"Mother or father" John repeated the question, "I live with both of my parents."
Curly stopped pacing and stood staring at John, "what did you say?"
John stalled under that intense verdigris stare, "I said, I live with both my parents." John didn't try to hide the annoyance from his voice, he hated repeating himself.
"See, I told you he's not a half-blood" Irene hissed. "Sherlock, please, can we just go?" she begged.
"No, I don't think so" Sherlock said shaking his head, "I'm never wrong, he's not just another mortal, he was born to fight."
John didn't like that this guy was just talking about him as if he wasn't standing right there. As if to acknowledge this curly, or rather 'Sherlock' turned back to face John.
"How long?" he asked, "how long have you been able to see through the mist? Seen things nobody else can?" Sherlock had pressed forward with every step, crowding into John's space.
"Always" John replied without hesitation.
"You'd never seen a Hydra before, but you knew exactly what it was, didn't you? You weren't even afraid. You ran towards an unknown danger, unprepared, and felt no fear. Why?" Sherlock's observations were blunt and to the point, for the first time it was making John actually stop and think.
Why indeed? "Instinct, it felt natural, like this is where I was supposed to be, at this moment."
John isn't sure where the words come from, he hadn't felt any of that at the time, but as he says it, he knows that's the truth.
"What's your name?" Moran asks in his Australian brogue, eye-balling John from over the rims of Ray Ban sunglasses.
"Watson, John Watson." John answers, the way he's been trained to since cadets and falls unconsciously into Parade Rest as though he is being inspected by a superior officer.
"Well John Watson, I think you had better come with us." He pushes his posh sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before leading the pack of them out of the clearing.
John protests the whole way, "no, listen, please, I don't want to become a member of your cult, or club whatever it is. I'm sorry I saw." His pleas fall on deaf ears though.
John was pretty familiar with Regents Park, he had walked it many times in his short life. He knew all the paths like the back of his hand, all the short cuts. So when they rounded a clump of trees, where John was sure there was nothing, he was surprised to see a small patch of grass, and on the grass two Pegasi and a brand new 2000 BWM motorcycle.
The bike, John can understand, it obviously belongs to Moran. The Pegasi on the other hand, well where did one keep winged horses in London?
"Buckingham Palace" Sherlock says, close to his right ear and for a moment John thinks he's asked the question out loud.
"Why?" he asks, because it's all he can think to say.
"Why not?" Sherlock returns then with the smug look of someone in the know says, "For emergencies."
"I'll meet you back at base" Moran says, straddling his bike.
As he kicked the bike into life the winged horses don't so much as whiney, clearly used to the noise.
"I'm riding solo" Irene suddenly declared striding over to one of the Bay mares with confidence. "The noob can ride with you" she tosses back at them lightly.
"Wait, what?" John said, suddenly becoming part of the conversation, "I've never ridden a horse before, let alone" he gestured uselessly at the animals before him, "you can't expect me to just-"
John's protests were cut short when Sherlock grasped him firmly around the wrist and started dragging him towards the other waiting Pegasus.
"Pet her down the nose, like this" Sherlock said, demonstrating the motion he wanted John to copy, "and say, 'hello Wendy' then introduce yourself."
"Wendy? You named your Pegasus Wendy?" John asked baffled, it was such an odd name he thought, too ordinary for such a mythical creature.
"She's not mine" Sherlock hissed, his frustration evident on his face, "and I didn't name her, we just went through this. Yes, her name is Wendy, and the other is Alice. Problem?"
John looked to where Irene was brushing Alice's coat to a sleek and shiny state.
"Nope, I just thought it might have been something not so, normal" John finished lamely, then felt bad because Sherlock had a very unusual name.
"Well" Sherlock explained, "Their caretaker is fond of Disney movies" he spits "There is also Peter, Mogli, and Tinker Bell. Tinker Bell is a large black Clydesdale, I can whistle for him, if you like?"
"No, Wendy's fine." John said, his voice rising a pitch. Mustering his resolve John walked over to Wendy and following Sherlock's example petted smoothly down her nose. "Hullo Wendy, I'm John, how very nice to meet you."
She made a happy sounding noise, well one John interpreted as happy and Sherlock feed her a sugar cube.
Irene gave some silent command that John didn't see and the two mares knelt down. Irene had no problem mounting Alice, with only the help of reins, no saddle. John was a little more hesitant, he had never ridden a horse before, let alone one with wings.
Sherlock managed to get John on to the waiting creature then hopped up in front of him with practiced ease. As Wendy stood to her full height John wobbled a bit and Sherlock said, "Hold on."
"To what?" John asked, Pegasus did not come with seatbelts, or panic handles for that matter.
"To me" he replied, somewhat cheeky, squeezing his thighs around the flanks of the Pegasus and putting Wendy into motion. Wendy started off at a gentle trot that grew into a canter, and finally a full out run, she was heading for a clump of trees John was sure they would run right into. Quickly he ducked his head and shut his eyes tight, he had no choice but to wrap his arms around the slender waist of the boy in front of him.
Sherlock was leaning forward and whispered something in Wendy's ear.
John braced himself for the impact that never came, suddenly he felt weightless. The wind was rushing through his hair, stinging his face. John chanced opening his eyes and saw they were indeed airborne. A cloudless sky surrounded them, and below, John didn't dare look.
John was all about believing six impossible things before breakfast, being the kid who saw stuff no one else did allowed him that. That is why he didn't question the existence of such creatures as Hydra's and Pegasi, even if it was well after breakfast.
"Race you" Irene called, coming in to view on John's right and he felt Sherlock urging Wendy to go faster.
"You're on" he replied back in a cocky tone that let John know Sherlock felt confident in assured victory.
As Wendy picked up speed John could feel her powerful wings pushing them forward. The sensation was too much and he was forced to close his eyes again, holding on tighter, and burying his face in to Sherlock's spine.
"Don't be such a wimp Watson, enjoy the view" Sherlock shouted over his shoulder so John could hear him over the whistle of the wind.
John wanted to believe him really, this time when John opened his eyes, he tried looking down but all he saw was red. Is that a bus? he thought, they were flying over a bloody double decker bus. John shut his eyes again as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake him.
"Whoa" Sherlock said, "easy girl, steady."
The sound of hooves hitting the sidewalk made John aware that they had indeed landed.
Without being told to John felt Wendy drop to her standard kneeling position.
Sherlock gracefully dismounted before helping John, whose foot had got caught in the loose hanging reins.
The pair landed hard on the ground, one on top of the other, almost. John had got twisted around and landed flat on his back, knocking his head on the sidewalk. Sherlock's excellent reflexes were the only thing that stopped him from landing square on top of John, holding out his arms to halt his decent.
"Alright, you've got questions" Sherlock said, not immediately moving, holding his plank position and continuing to look John in the eye.
"Yeah, where are we?" John asked, rubbing the back of his head.
In a single movement Sherlock stood up and held out his hand for John to take. John took the offered hand and let Sherlock pull him to his feet; he was just as strong as John had thought he would be. Those slender arms indeed corded with muscle. They held hands a second longer than was strictly necessary before Sherlock let go.
"Baker Street, two-two-one to be precise, also known as Beta House." Sherlock explained. He had lived at Beta House most of his life, under the dutiful care of Mrs. Hudson, since running away from home at age seven. At ten years Sherlock had lived there the longest.
The door to 221 looked like any other "Right, and why am I here?"
"Beta House is a safe place for demigods to go. You are a demigod we just need to find out who your godly parent is. I can usually tell but if you're unclaimed it is more difficult." Sherlock mused, moving into the puzzled sate he was before.
The sound of hoofs touching down came again as Irene landed Alice, and dismounted as gracefully as she had mounted. She gave a sugar cube to each of the mares then in unison the pair took flight once more, presumably back to their stables at Buckingham Palace and their unusual groomer who named them.
"And I am unclaimed?" John asked, still sceptical, not unsure that this wasn't all some joke or game.
"Do you know who your godly parent is?" Sherlock asked just as cynical.
"No" John answered flat. Did these kids really believe one of their parents was a god? A few years back John remembered a group of girls at school who pretended to be characters from a telly show, Sailor Moon. The girls would spend their lunch break running around 'fighting' the bad guys. Could this be the same type of thing, was it all just pretending?
"What makes you so sure I am one?" John asked, not wanting to be brought into all this foolishness. At the same time though, mythical creatures just didn't appear in Regent's Park every day.
"One what?" Sherlock asked, clearly distracted.
Irene had gone, probably inside the house, but John doesn't remember seeing her leave.
"Demi-whatsit"
"Demigod, it means you are the product of an affair between a god and a mortal." Sherlock explained.
"You mean like in ancient Rome and Greece?" John asked.
Sherlock froze, a look of horror on his face, "don't say that word" he snarled
"What word?" John asked confused, trying to remember what he could have possibly said to inflame the other teen.
"The R- word" Sherlock sneered back.
"Roman?" John asked, warily. He didn't want to cause another outburst.
"Yes that" confirmed Sherlock, "don't say it."
"Why not?" John asked, wasn't it all the same thing?
"We are Greek" Sherlock said, a note of pride in his voice. Sherlock turned and stalked towards the door of 221, its brass numbers shining brilliantly in the autumn sun.
"Oh" said John feigning comprehension, "don't get on then?" He followed Sherlock to the door, this could be interesting, just the sort of thing John needed to cure the sense of restlessness that had come over him lately. What could be the harm in playing along?
Sherlock, paused, hand on the doorknob to 221 and turned slightly to look back at John, uttering one word "No."
Sherlock pushed open the door and John followed him inside, to the cool darkness. To his right there was an open entrance to the main level and there was a staircase that led up to his left.
"Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock bellowed, "we've got another one!"